Time Well Spent

Lifetimes long past when once we met,
Decades beyond, and now a century~
Thy soul, thy heart, never did I forget.
Thine eyes engraved in my memory.
My skin still simmers to thy touch.
Into thine arms I long to rush!
A more blessed fate there could not be
Than for me to spend eternity with thee.

In Vino Veritas

They walk together, out of the shadows of the twisted grapevine and into the silver moonlight, their footsteps echoing beside the old stone wall. His fingers gently envelope her hand, his warmth upon her cool skin. Quiet thoughts glimmer like starlight, subtle reflections in his luminous eyes. They stop walking just as a cloud covers the moon. Turning slowly to face her, he grasps her hands and draws a deep breath. She waits to hear what he will say, but the unspoken words curl upwards in a wisp of vapor as he exhales. The moon reappears from behind the cloud, bathing their faces in a soft glow while nearby crickets resume their melodic chorus. A playful laugh escapes her lips, and he realizes that she already knew what he wanted to say....

Reflections of Autumn

A mourning dove calls out across the silver mist of dawn.

The glow of the rising sun melts a window in the fog, revealing indigo mountains in the distance.

Creeping vines stir with a shimmer of light~ the autumn breeze awakening scarlet memories of summer, now passed.

As I step out into the sunlight, a slight wind rises, lifting the warm cascade of curls from the nape of my neck.

I shiver, reminded that the silence of winter will soon lie down in the valley.

A vision of you plays now upon my mind. Smiling, I am warm again.

The Red Suitcase

After having lunch with a friend of mine today, I splashed my way across the rain puddles between the Mexican restaurant and the car. Along the flooded sidewalk, an unusual sight caught my attention. There was a young man, probably in his early twenties, walking purposefully as he was pelted with cold droplets from the gray clouds. Behind him, he rolled a dripping red suitcase. From whence he came, I could not discern; his clothes were saturated and his hair was clinging to his head in a way which gave him a non-human appearance. Intrigued with watching his progress, I sat quietly in the car. What possessions might he have in the red suitcase he pulls? After awhile, the young man stopped walking. He let go of the red suitcase, and it wobbled briefly before finally toppling over onto the wet sidewalk. He lifted his face skyward, letting the rain fall into his eyes and mouth, down his neck and across his chest. He remained in that position for some time, eyes transfixed on infinity above us. A few moments passed, and I continued to watch as he took a step forward, abandoning the red suitcase on the sidewalk. At first, I thought it was strange that he left the red suitcase there. Suddenly, it occurred to me that perhaps he had no possessions in that red suitcase at all. Perhaps what he had been carrying in the red suitcase were his fears and doubts, his worries and regrets. I began to realize that the scene I had witnessed in the rain was not an act of quiet desperation, but rather, a metamorphosis. Seeing this transformation was undoubtedly a teaching from the universe. Today, on my birthday, I decided to abandon my own red suitcase!